


This is Right

by BubbleGumLizard



Series: Mystrade NaNoWriMo 2015 [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bullying, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Mycroft Holmes meets a stunningly handsome rugby player named Greg Lestrade and falls madly in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my NaNoWriMo 2015 series. If there are any errors, please let me know. I wrote it over the course of thirty-six hours in an attempt to boost my NaNo word count. It's my first teenage AU. I hope everyone enjoys it!

Mycroft walked through the park, tapping his new umbrella on the ground in front of him. His parents had given him the umbrella for Christmas and he liked the drama of carrying it. Making some kind of visual impression on people would be wise in the profession he hoped to enter when when he finished university. He saw some boys his age playing rugby near him, so he paused to watch them. He sat on a bench and pulled out his phone, pretending to read while really watching the boys run around in their shorts. He had always enjoyed rugby.

After a few minutes, one boy in particular caught his eye. He was powerfully built and attractive and Mycroft licked his lips, looking at the boy's bare legs. The game broke up and Mycroft looked at his phone, hoping that none of them had seen him looking.

He had been beaten by rugby players enough times to know that they did not take kindly to being ogled.

He was vaguely aware of someone approaching him, but he kept his eyes steady on his phone, hoping that whoever it was would leave him alone. The person dropped onto the bench next to him and let out a long breath.

"Did you have fun watching the game?" the boy asked.

Mycroft looked up, slightly confused. It was the boy he had been watching and he sounded friendly, not upset. "I beg your pardon?"

"You were watching us play. How was it?" The boy gave a broad smile when Mycroft just stared at him, holding out his hand to shake. "Greg Lestrade."

"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft said quietly, unsure of how to proceed. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

"I suppose most of my teammates wouldn't take kindly to you watching. Luckily, I'm more observant than the rest. I like when cute boys watch me play." He scooted a bit closer on the bench, close enough that their legs were almost touching.

Mycroft couldn't help himself: his mouth dropped open and he stared at the exceedingly attractive boy in front of him. No one had ever called him "cute" before and certainly no one had ever flirted with him, which is what he was almost positive was happening here.

"You're shy, huh?" Greg asked when Mycroft didn't respond.

"I've never--no one's ever said anything like..." Mycroft trailed off, not wanting to betray how inexperienced he was.

"You must have met some bloody idiots in your life," Greg said, sounding almost breathless as he locked eyes with Mycroft.

Mycroft's breath caught in his throat, but before he could say anything, another boy was calling to Greg, waving him over.

"I have to go. We play here every week at this time. I wouldn't mind if you wanted to come watch again." Greg reached out and squeezed Mycroft's knee before standing and running off to meet his friend, who was scowling at Mycroft.

Mycroft didn't know what to make of the encounter. No one had ever approached him like that. He had always been a little chubby and intellectually superior to his classmates, which made him inaccessible. While he had been interested in other boys, he was too afraid of rejection to say anything to anyone and he felt that it was all too clear that no one reciprocated his interest. He tried to remain as aloof as possible, which meant not allowing himself to be vulnerable in any way. He wasn't sure what to do in this situation, if he should return the next week to watch Greg play or if he should just forget that the interaction ever happened. He walked home so deep in thought that he nearly walked past his flat.

He reached to put his umbrella in the stand and he realized that his umbrella stand was overturned. Narrowing his eyes, he straightened it and went in search of his tiresome little brother. He found his brother, fourteen years old and full of mischief, looking in a microscope in the kitchen. There was a terrible smell coming from the sink and a blond boy that Mycroft had never seen was staring at Sherlock in awe.

"How did you get in here?" Mycroft demanded, avoiding the sink. "And who is that?" he asked, pointing at the strange boy.

"Your security is really very poor, Mycroft," Sherlock said without looking up. "You need to fix that if you want to succeed in your goal to take over the world. This is John Watson."

The boy smiled and nodded at Mycroft before turning his attention back to Sherlock.

Mycroft scowled and turned to go into the other room. "Clean this up and get out of here within an hour or I'll tell Mother you're here with strange boys."

"I'm sure you have strange boys here all the time," Sherlock called after him, but Mycroft heard him clattering around, cleaning things up.

"I wish," Mycroft muttered to himself, sitting down in his favorite chair and pulling his laptop onto his lap to do some work. He closed his eyes and considered what he would do if that boy, Greg Lestrade, were in the flat right now, perhaps sitting in Mycroft's lap, running his hands through Mycroft's hair... No, that would not do to think about, not when Sherlock was in the flat.

Mycroft's phone made a noise and he was surprised to see a Facebook message pop up. He only had Facebook to keep an eye on certain people: it didn't have any identifying information or pictures, including a fake name. The message was from Greg Lestrade.

**Hey, it's Greg. I thought you might want to chat.**

Mycroft thought carefully before typing out his response.

**Do I know you?**

A response came almost immediately, making Mycroft smile.

**Of course you do, MH. If you don't want to talk on Facebook, you can always text me.**

He included a phone number. Feeling more secure talking through text, Mycroft copied and pasted the number into his contacts and opened a new text message.

**How did you find me? MH**

**I have my ways. I'm going to be a detective one day. I need to practice as much as I can. GL**

Mycroft frowned. If it had been so easy for Greg to find him, perhaps he needed to reevaluate his on-line security.

**Stop worrying about how I found you and focus on talking to me. GL**

**Do you have any particular topics you would like to discuss? MH**

**Politics or religion. Those are nice easy topics of conversation that everyone agrees on, right? GL**

Mycroft laughed. This boy was attractive, funny, and apparently interested in Mycroft. It seemed almost too good to be true. It probably is too good to be true, he reminded himself. There has to be some ulterior motive here.

**Perhaps not. MH**

**Alright then. Past boyfriends? GL**

**You are awfully confident that I have past boyfriends instead of past girlfriends. MH**

**Based on the way you were watching me play, yes I am. I'll go first. I am woefully inexperienced with boys. I'm always interested in gaining experience, though. GL**

Mycroft felt his face redden and instinctively looked around to make sure no one could see him. He was, of course, alone in his own living room, but he still didn't want to be caught blushing over a text message.

**You certainly seem sure that I'm interested in you. MH**

**You're texting me back, aren't you? GL**

**I am also inexperienced. I might be persuaded to gain some more. MH**

**Well, I'll have to work on that, won't I? GL**

Mycroft smiled at his phone before putting it down. He didn't want to seem too eager, even though every fiber of his being was screaming for more flirting. He had never flirted with anyone before, and he wanted to be sure not to mess it up. When he was a bit younger, first interested in boys, he remembered that being eager was bad.

"Why are you smiling like an idiot?" Sherlock asked from the doorway.

"That is none of your concern," Mycroft said, turning his attention to his computer and beginning some work.

"Of course it isn't. Just be careful, though. You wouldn't want to squish anyone who was interested in having sex with you with your great bulk."

"Out, Sherlock," Mycroft said, pretending to ignore his comments. Sherlock muttered a few last insults and the left, taking his friend with him.

Later that night, Mycroft was preparing for bed and he paused to look at himself in the mirror in just his pants. He was certainly a bit larger than he wished, having put on some weight while at school. He supposed that it was a good time for him to try and lose the weight. With a heavy sigh, he went to his kitchen and threw out any junk food he could find, including all takeaway menus. He would start his weight loss initiative right then, so that he would be attractive enough to be seen in public with Greg, if they ever made it that far.

***

Over the next week, Mycroft and Greg texted regularly. Their conversations ranged many topics that Mycroft would not have expected from an attractive rugby player. He was fairly certain that he was falling in love and found himself strolling through the park again a week after they had met. He sat on the same bench, phone out, pretending to read again. He found Greg easily, watching him with some interest. Greg was easily the best player on the field and Mycroft enjoyed watching him.

After the game was over, Mycroft lost sight of Greg. He was a little disappointed, hoping that Greg would come talk to him and maybe touch his leg again. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he started actually reading on his phone and tried to put Greg out of his mind.

"Hey," a voice said from behind Mycroft, startling him. Mycroft turned around to see Greg, unable to stop a smile from spreading on his face.

"Good afternoon," he said, putting his phone in his pocket. "I thought you had left."

"Just wanted to give myself a quick wipe down," Greg said, gesturing to his face. "I was sweaty.” He sat down next to Mycroft, close to him.

“Why are you doing this?” Mycroft asked suddenly, not sure what possessed him to say something so idiotic.

Greg looked surprised. “Doing what? Talking to you? Why shouldn’t I talk to you?”

Mycroft shrugged. “Attractive boys usually have other boys for talking.”

Greg blushed, smiling shyly. “You think I’m attractive?”

“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t find you gorgeous?” Mycroft could feel his normal facade slipping, but he couldn’t help himself.

Greg leaned forward slowly, giving Mycroft plenty of time to object or move away, and kissed Mycroft gently on the cheek. “Thank you. I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

“You must be blind,” Mycroft said quietly, blushing.

Greg frowned. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Believe what?”

“That you aren’t gorgeous.”

“I firmly believe in being realistic about my unfortunate looks,” Mycroft said stiffly.

Greg shook his head incredulously. “I thought you were brilliant, talking to you the last week. But now I realize that you are an idiot, Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. He was not usually referred to as an idiot and he didn’t appreciate it, no matter how sexy the person saying it was.

Greg slipped his hand into Mycroft’s. “Can I take you somewhere?”

“Where?”

Greg thought for a moment. “Somewhere we can have privacy. I would suggest going back to mine, but my roommates—well, I’ve never brought a boy home before and I’m not sure how well they’ll take it, to be honest. That’s probably a conversation we should have before I bring you over.”

Mycroft nodded. His sexuality wasn’t a secret, but he hadn’t actually told anyone either. He suspected that Greg was feeling extra pressure about it as well, because of his ultra-masculine hobbies. “We can go to my flat,” he suggested.

“Do you always let strange men into your flat?” Greg asked with a smile.

“Are you strange?” Mycroft asked. He had, of course, done a full background check on Greg: eighteen, living with two roommates, attending university with plans to become a detective. He was secure in his decision to invite Greg over, even though he hadn’t anticipated doing it so soon into their friendship.

Greg grinned and stood, pulling Mycroft with him. “Where is this flat of yours?”

Mycroft gently took his hand from Greg, smoothing his suit, and picking up his umbrella before leading the way.

When they arrived at Mycroft’s flat, Mycroft listened carefully for any sign of intruders. Sherlock had taken to picking Mycroft’s locks whenever he was bored and making a mess of things, but it didn’t seem as if his annoying little brother was in the flat.

When he turned to Greg, he was embarrassed to find Greg looking at him with a bemused look on his face. “Expecting someone else to be here?”

“Little brother,” Mycroft explained and Greg smiled.

“They can be rather irritating, can’t they?”

“You have no idea,” Mycroft said, before leading Greg on a tour of the small, upscale flat.

“This place is amazing. You can never come to mine. It’s a hole compared to this.”

Mycroft thought about what Greg’s flat would be like: probably small, cramped, and cluttered. He thought it might be nice to spend some time in a place like that. Providing, of course, that he was able to go home to his flat whenever he wanted.

“Can you always do that?” Greg asked, watching him curiously.

“Do what?”

“You know exactly what my flat looks like, don’t you?”

“I can make a guess,” Mycroft said. “That’s not any special talent. You said that you have roommates and referred to your flat as a ‘hole.’ Since mine is uncluttered and neat, it is easy to assume that yours is not.”

Greg stepped close to Mycroft, putting his hands on the taller boy’s shoulders. Mycroft suddenly couldn’t think as Greg’s musky scent overwhelmed his senses. He felt his cock start to fill as post-rugby Greg took over his brain, causing it to short circuit.

Greg chuckled, seeing the effect he had on Mycroft, and leaned forward for a sweet, short kiss. “Can I undress you?” he asked, pulling away.

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft asked, startled. He had never been kissed before and he hadn’t been expecting things to progress so quickly.

“Right. Probably too soon,” Greg said, reaching up for another kiss, longer this time. “We can save that for another time.”

“I apologize,” Mycroft murmured, blushing.

Greg smiled and pulled him into a tight hug. “Don’t. I’m right there with you. Other than snogging a few girls last year, I am completely inexperienced. I don’t want to rush this. I just…I had something in mind that I wanted to do.”

“What?” Mycroft’s brain was fuzzy and he was finding it hard to think with Greg holding him like that.

“Come with me,” Greg said, pulling Mycroft into the bedroom. He slid Mycroft’s jacket from his shoulders, followed by his waistcoat. He unbuttoned Mycroft’s shirt partially, letting his hands explore Mycroft’s exposed chest. “You’re very sexy,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be silly.”

Greg took Mycroft’s face in his hands and kissed him tenderly. “Stop that. I find you very attractive. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. The moment I saw you, I wanted to throw you down and see what’s underneath the suit.”

Mycroft could tell that he was being a little whiny, but he couldn’t help himself. He looked down, away from Greg’s face. “I need to lose weight.”

“If you say so.” Greg slid his hand down into Mycroft’s shirt to rest on his side. “I think you’re perfect the way you are. I wouldn’t want some boy who is all skin and bones. I like a man with a little bit of padding.”

“Well, you’ve picked the right one, then.”

Greg ducked his head so that his face was in Mycroft’s line of sight and took Mycroft’s hand, pressing it against the front of Greg’s shorts. “Feel what being this close to you is doing to me.”

Mycroft stared at Greg’s face as his hand cupped Greg’s erection. He squeezed gently and Greg moaned, tipping his head back slightly. Mycroft took a risk and leaned in, kissing Greg’s neck gently. Spurred on by Greg’s extremely vocal response, Mycroft kept kissing, stroking his erection through his shorts.

“Mycroft, I—” Greg was interrupted as he groaned loudly and shuddered, his hips thrusting forward instinctively as his orgasm overtook him.

Seeing Greg’s face as he came only encouraged Mycroft more as he tilted Greg’s head and kissed him, rutting against his leg. Greg recovered slightly and wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s back, pulling away to whisper, “You are so unbelievably sexy like this.”

Mycroft came so hard he nearly fell over. Luckily, Greg was there to catch him, holding him tightly and stroking his arm through his orgasm. When Mycroft had finished, Greg pulled him over to the bed and lay on it, pulling Mycroft’s head onto his shoulder and holding him.

“I didn’t expect that,” Greg said quietly. “I thought that we might take things slowly.”

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft said, blushing. He didn’t know what he had done, but he felt like he had done the wrong thing.

“Oh no! Don’t be,” Greg said, kissing the top of Mycroft’s head. “That was amazing.”

“Would you like to take a shower?” Mycroft asked shyly.

“Only if you join me.” Greg jumped up and pulled Mycroft toward the shower without waiting for an answer.

“You seem really eager for a shower,” Mycroft said, laughing as Greg started shedding his clothes.

“You’ll have to be naked in the shower,” Greg said excitedly, biting his lip and looking Mycroft up and down.

Mycroft took a deep breath and pulled the rest of his clothes off, trying to avoid Greg’s gaze. He watched as Greg pushed his pants down and kicked them away, staring at Greg’s cock. Mycroft licked his lips, thinking about how Greg would taste. Before he knew what he was doing, he dropped to his knees and pressed a kiss to Greg’s cock. Greg gasped as his cock started to fill again. Mycroft smiled up at him coyly and then took Greg’s length in his mouth.

Two more orgasms and a shower later, Mycroft and Greg lay in Mycroft’s bed, cuddling and talking. “This is nice,” Greg said after a while, stretching. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Then stay.” Mycroft turned and buried his face in Greg’s side, closing his eyes. “I am tired.”

“My roommates will wonder where I am.”

“Tell them you met a girl,” Mycroft said, sounding more annoyed than he intended.

“I’m not ashamed of you.” Greg sounded offended and Mycroft could tell without looking that he was frowning. “I just haven’t discussed the whole situation with them yet.”

“Of course not. If you told them you were shagging a boy, they might want to see me. And that wouldn’t do at all.”

Greg sat up. “I want them to see you. I just don’t want their first reaction to finding out that I’m gay to be in front of you. My friends are good people, but I don’t want them to say something stupid and insulting to you. I didn’t think this would happen today. I’d hoped, but this is moving much faster than I thought.”

“Maybe it was a mistake then,” Mycroft said, standing.

“No. No, no, no.” Greg stood as well, taking Mycroft’s hands in his. “I won’t let us mess this up. I’ve never enjoyed talking to someone as much as I do you. This is special and we’re not going to ruin it over a silly misunderstanding.” He kissed Mycroft’s hands and then reached for his phone, which was sitting on the end table. He pressed some buttons, then put it on speaker phone so Mycroft could hear.

“Hello?” a girl’s voice asked.

“Sally? It’s Greg. I just wanted to tell you about someone.”

“Did you finally meet a girl who’s good enough for you?” She sounded like she was smiling. Teasing, probably, Mycroft told himself.

“Not quite. I met someone who is perfect for me. His name is Mycroft.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “A boy?”

“Yes. I’m gay, Sally.”

“That’s—that’s nice, Greg. Listen, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” She hung up the phone without waiting for an answer, and Greg put his face in his hands.

“Oh Greg,” Mycroft said, wrapping his arms around him. “I shouldn’t have made you do that.”

“You didn’t make me do anything. No one makes me do anything I don’t want to do.” Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s neck, relaxing into the embrace.

“Stay here tonight. Go deal with them tomorrow.”

Greg nodded, nuzzling Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft smiled, feeling perfectly at ease with another person for the first time in his life.

***

Greg stayed that night, but returned home the next day. He had classes and work to worry about, he couldn’t just spend all his time in bed with Mycroft (as much as he might like to). Mycroft was in the middle of an internship with the man who was the British government, so he was busy himself. He had one day off a week, Sunday, which was when he met Greg. Their busy schedules meant that they didn’t have much time to see each other during the week. They kept in touch by texting and Greg promised to come over again on Friday.

Mycroft left work early on Friday so that he could get home and make sure everything was ready. He was walking home, carrying his umbrella, when a large boy stepped out in front of him. “Well, well. If it isn’t the poof who keeps watching us play rugby,” he said to the two boys who followed him.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” Mycroft said, trying to step around the boys.

The one who had spoken, clearly the leader, sidestepped to block Mycroft. “I think you do. You come to the park and sit and watch us play every Sunday.”

“There are other reasons one might visit a park,” Mycroft said stiffly, trying to be subtle as he cast his eyes around for some way to escape. The other two boys had flanked him, so he was surrounded. “Now, if you will excuse me I--”

“I will not excuse you. In fact, I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

“What’s going on?” a familiar voice asked from behind Mycroft, and Mycroft froze, turning slowly to see Sherlock standing with that boy, John.

“Get outta here, kid,” the leader said menacingly.

“Leave my brother alone.”

“Sherlock, go,” Mycroft said. The last thing he needed was for Sherlock to get involved in this mess. “This doesn’t concern you.” He caught Sherlock’s eyes, pleading with him silently to listen to him for once.

“Your brother has some business with us.”

“That’s funny, because it looks like he isn’t interested in your business. Oh, is that it? He turned you down for a date and now you’re upset?”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft cried despairingly. It was one thing for Sherlock to cause trouble when Mycroft wasn’t being threatened with physical harm, this was not the right time for Sherlock’s mouth to get involved.

“We don’t want to hurt you kid, but that doesn’t mean we won’t,” the leader said as the other two cracked their knuckles.

“I’d like to see you try,” Sherlock said.

The leader of the boys laughed and suddenly things were happening very quickly. The two boys flanking Mycroft moved to grab Sherlock and John, while the leader threw a punch at Mycroft. John tackled one of the boys around the knees, while Sherlock grabbed the other boy by one wrist, got him off balance, and ended up on top of him on the ground, with his arm twisted behind his back. At the same time, Mycroft opened his umbrella in the leader’s face, making him stumble backwards and giving Mycroft time to execute a perfect leg sweep and jump on top of him, restraining him.

“Very nice, Sherlock and John,” Mycroft said approvingly as a police constable appeared out of nowhere, led by the owner of a nearby shop.

The exchange had been brief, but loud enough that there were witnesses. While everything was being straightened out, Greg came jogging into view. “Mycroft! What happened? Are you okay? Someone said that a boy in a suit was being attacked.” He grabbed Mycroft by the shoulders and studied his face for a sign of injury. He saw his rugby friends staring at him and his display of concern for the object of their anger and narrowed his eyes. He turned back to Mycroft and kissed him gently on the lips. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said to the stunned Mycroft, who hadn’t expected such a public display of affection so early in their relationship.

Greg turned and rounded on his friends. “Why were you harassing my boyfriend?” he asked them angrily.

“Your boyfriend?” the leader asked, sounding shocked. “You--you’re--”

“Gay, yes. Now you owe him an apology for whatever you did.”

“‘Boyfriend,’ hm?” Sherlock asked Mycroft, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Have you told Mummy yet?”

“It isn’t any of her concern. Or yours,” Mycroft said, frowning.

“She’ll insist on having him over for tea. That will be delightful.”

“If you tell her about Greg, I’ll tell her about John.”

“Oh, she’s met John.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you’ve told her everything about your, ahem, friendship.”

“She won’t hear it from me!” Sherlock said and spun around, walking quickly away. “Come on, John!”

John shrugged and followed Sherlock. Mycroft turned his attention back to where Greg was still berating his friends.

“Leave them,” Mycroft said quietly.

“But they tried to attack you!” Greg said angrily.

“I think you’ll find ‘tried’ is the operative word there, Greg,” Mycroft said smoothly. “I was in no danger. My little brother was able to bring one of them down. Three of them would have been no trouble for me.” He nodded to the police constable, and steered Greg away from the crowd of people.

“I heard you were amazing,” Greg murmured, sliding his arm around Mycroft’s waist. “I would have loved to see that.”

“I may be able to procure footage of the excitement for you,” Mycroft told him with a small smile. “Or we can always go get into a brawl at a pub.”

Greg laughed and gave him a squeeze. “So, did I hear something about your brother being there?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet him.”

“I really do. He took down the toughest guy I know. I want to know how he did it.”

“I can show you. I taught him everything he knows,” Mycroft said as he let them into his flat.

“Oh, really?” Greg asked. Before Mycroft could answer, Greg had pushed him into the flat, spun him around, and picked him up. Mycroft laughed and wrapped his legs around Greg’s waist, leaning in for a kiss.

“I missed you all week.”

“Well, I’m here now. I don’t have any pressing business until work tomorrow.”

“And you called me your boyfriend,” Mycroft said, glowing with pleasure. Greg smiled back at him and sat down in Mycroft’s chair, still holding Mycroft. “How are things with your roommates?”

Greg shrugged. “Sally isn’t being particularly friendly, but Tobias reckons that’s because she wants me. He doesn’t have any problems. They’re good people, my mates. It’s just something they need time to adjust to.”  
  
Mycroft nodded. “Anthea said that’s probably how it is for you. She told me that she knew since she met me. She even stopped texting long enough to look at me while she said it.”

Greg laughed. “I need to meet her. And your brother. And parents.”

“They’re not anything special.”

“Well, I don’t have a family, so I’d like to meet yours.”

Mycroft didn’t know what to say, so he just kissed him. Greg seemed to accept that for an answer and kissed back enthusiastically.

When they pulled apart later, breathing heavily, Mycroft kissed Greg on the nose. “I’ll tell Mummy that you’d like to meet her. I am sure she will fawn all over you and become so bothersome that you will regret your decision to ask.”

Greg smiled, slipping his hands into Mycroft’s trousers. “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

Greg smoothed his hair nervously, looking at his reflection in the mirror for at least the tenth time. “You look wonderful,” Mycroft said, giving him a bright smile. “They’re going to love you.”

“It’s my first time meeting a boyfriend’s parents. And you’ve never introduced a boyfriend to them. What if they think I corrupted you?” Greg felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure why he had been so eager to meet his new boyfriend’s parents. Mycroft seemed so calm about the situation, even though he hadn’t wanted it to happen initially. Now that it was time for them to catch the train to Mycroft’s parents’ house, Greg was regretting everything.

 

“Don’t worry, Greg,” Mycroft said, taking him by the hand and pulling him away from the mirror. “Trust me.”

Greg attempted a smile, sure that it wasn’t very convincing. It didn’t really matter anyway: Mycroft had always seemed to be able to read Greg’s mind. It was a wonderful quality when they were in bed together, but it wasn’t as welcome when Greg wanted to avoid showing how nervous he was.

The whole train ride, Greg fidgeted uncomfortably. Mycroft seemed totally unbothered by the situation and did some work on his computer, but Greg couldn’t find anything to interest him on his phone. “Can they read people like you?” he asked Mycroft, a sudden horrible fantasy of Mrs. Holmes knowing every thought in his head.

Mycroft shook his head. “My parents are perfectly normal. Mummy is a genius, of course, and Father is quite brilliant in his own right, but they aren’t like me and Sherlock. Well, no one’s like Sherlock.”

“I hope he likes me.”

“Sherlock doesn’t like anyone,” Mycroft assured him. “Well, except for that John Watson boy. I may need to have a talk with him about Sherlock.”

“Are they dating? Aren’t they a little young?”

Mycroft shrugged. “They’re fourteen, so I suppose not. I think they’re officially just ‘friends’, though.”

“Well, whatever they are, I hope they both like me.”

Mycroft took Greg’s hand and squeezed it. Greg was able to breathe freely for a moment, comforted by the now familiar feeling of Mycroft’s soft hand in his. In the two weeks they had been dating, Greg had come to crave physical contact with his boyfriend, finding himself constantly reaching for Mycroft when they were together.

The train reached their destination and Mycroft led the way, assuring Greg that the house was walking distance from the station. They took their overnight bags and made the short walk. Greg was surprised as they approached a very normal-looking house.

Mycroft’s flat was so fancy and luxurious, he clearly came from money. This was a largish house, but still perfectly normal. It looked live in as well, the way that Greg had always imagined nice family houses being, full of people and things and love.

As they reached the door, it was thrown open from the inside and a very pleasant-looking woman with a big smile on her face threw her arms around both of them. “Mycroft, love! Come in, come in. Oh, it has been so long since you came home for a visit.”

“Mummy, it’s only been two months,” Mycroft said and Greg could tell that he was trying to sound as aloof as possible. Greg liked that Mycroft tried so hard in front of him. He didn’t care if Mycroft was sweet with his family, but he knew that Mycroft cared what Greg thought of him and it made him smile to see Mycroft try so hard.

“Is this your young man, then?” Mrs. Holmes asked, looking at Greg finally.

“Greg Lestrade,” Greg introduced himself, holding his hand out to shake. Mrs. Holmes looked at his hand, shook her head at him, and pulled him into a tight hug before pulling him into the house. She sat him in the kitchen and started to make tea while she chatted with him.

“It is so wonderful to meet you, Greg! When Mycroft told me about you, I was sure that he would never bring you to meet us. My boys enjoy torturing their poor mother.”

“Well, I wanted to meet you. I wanted to see where Mycroft came from.” Greg looked around the room, a little shocked that such a homey place had been where Mycroft grew up.

“No one knows Mycroft’s true origins, he turned up in the field one day and my parents decided to take him in out of charity,” a boy said, walking into the room and dropping into a chair. He was tall and thin, with an unruly mop of curly hair on top of his head. At Mycroft’s scowl, he sneered at him and turned his attention to Greg. “How do you expect to be a competent detective when your judge of character is so off that you’re dating Mycroft?”

“I take it you’re Sherlock,” Greg said neutrally.

“Brilliant deduction,” Sherlock said sarcastically.

“Not really a deduction, so much as you are exactly as your brother described you.” Greg gave Mycroft a smile. The vivid picture he had painted in Greg’s mind of Sherlock, a picture that Greg had been sure was grossly exaggerated, was perfectly accurate.

“Of course. The sludge that you call a brain is not capable of making any deductions, is it?”

“And is your boyfriend here right now, Sherlock?” Greg asked politely.

Sherlock turned bright red. “He’s not—we’re not…” he jumped up and ran out of the room without finishing his sentence, muttering darkly as he left.

Mycroft was staring at Greg. “Oh, was I not supposed to say anything?” he asked innocently.

“That’s alright, dear,” Mrs. Holmes said reassuringly to Mycroft. “I know about Sherlock and John. It’s quite obvious and you needn’t be an expert at reading people to see when two people are in love.” She gave Greg a warm smile, and Greg felt himself blush.

“I’m going to show Greg my room,” Mycroft said, standing up suddenly.

“Of course, dear. I’ll be in shortly with some tea.”

Greg followed Mycroft up the stairs to a small bedroom that looked like it didn’t fit in the house. It was perfectly neat and tidy and seemed to hold far less than the rest of the house. Mycroft stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do.

“Have you forgotten what to do when you have a boy in your room?” Greg asked teasingly.

Mycroft flushed bright red. “My mother is downstairs.”

Greg laughed. “Very well. We’ll be good today. Wouldn’t want Mummy to see anything that might upset her.”

Mycroft pulled Greg to him, kissing him in a way that was full of promise — or would be, if they weren’t in Mycroft’s parents’ house, with his mother ready to walk into the room at any moment. “I will make it up to you when we are back in London,” he whispered, pulling away and moving to show Greg something on the desk.

Greg and Mycroft spent a very pleasant afternoon in Mycroft’s room, looking at everything from Mycroft’s youth. Things were going very well until Mycroft’s phone rang. He took the call in the other room, and when he returned, Greg knew that their good time was over.

“Why do you get called to work so much? Aren’t you just an intern?”

“He’s not ‘just’ anything,” Sherlock said from the doorway. “Our Mycroft will be the British Government one day. Quite a big job, he has to be there for the really important things to learn how to rule the world.”

It was a ridiculous claim, of course: one man didn’t run the government. Greg had developed suspicions about Mycroft’s real line of work. Claims that he had a simple internship seemed odd when he spent so much time working. He worked practically all day, six days a week. Greg suspected that before they had started dating, Mycroft spent most of his day off working as well. Mycroft had taken some time off here and there, but Greg often caught him up late at night working or yelling at someone in a foreign language. When Greg asked what was wrong after Mycroft came back to bed, the only answer he had received was “work.” They had spent five nights together since they had started dating and every one was the same. Greg's suspicions centered around Mycroft being a member of some shadowy government organization and now, given Sherlock's comments, he was sure that he was right. He had noted that Mycroft had never called Sherlock a liar and Sherlock hadn't said anything to Lestrade that could be called a falsehood. He seemed rude and socially inept, but not like he was deliberately nasty.

"Oh, just go away, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "Perhaps you can go for a walk," he suggested to Greg, trying to be helpful.

"You can come see my laboratory," Sherlock said. Greg shrugged and stood. He had a feeling that showing an interest in the lab might make Sherlock like him and Greg was very interested in Sherlock liking him.

"Okay," Greg said. He kissed Mycroft on the forehead and followed Sherlock out of the room.

Sherlock led Greg out of the house to a shed behind it. "This is my laboratory." Greg took a look around, barely recognizing any of the obviously very expensive equipment. 

"Are you working on any interesting experiments?" Greg asked, looking around.

Sherlock nodded excitedly, beginning a very long explanation of an experiment that Greg didn't fully understand.

"Who are you?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Greg smiled, holding out his hand to shake. "Greg, Mycroft's boyfriend. You're John?"

The frown that had been on John's face faded to a friendly smile. "It's nice to meet you. How did Sherlock manage to trap you out here?"

"Mycroft is busy with work, so I needed something to do. This is interesting enough."

"Don't lie, Lestrade, you have no interest in this," Sherlock said without looking up from his microscope.

"Well, it's always nice to hear about something from someone who loves it," Greg said with a shrug.

"No one can understand everything he says. He's too brilliant," John said. "I just like being around him while he's working."

"I feel that way about Mycroft sometimes. Our boys are really something, aren't they?" Greg asked with appreciation. John glanced at Sherlock nervously, and Greg gave him a bright smile. "It's okay, mate. I know you and he are together."

"We're not really 'together'," John muttered.

"We're soulmates. Well, we would be if souls existed," Sherlock said, standing and walking over to John. He held John's hand, not touching him otherwise. "Of course, the idea of a soul is laughable and love is even more ridiculous. You should hear Mycroft's views on caring about people. He might alter them for your benefit, but I'm sure I have several texts somewhere about 'caring not being an advantage'. I can no longer agree with that, however. Now that I have met John, I am sure that no one could ever care more for him and that he and I should spend the rest of our lives together."

Greg looked at John's face, to see what he made of this little speech. John smiled at Sherlock, kissing him on the cheek. "I love you, too, Sherlock."

"How touching," Mycroft said drily from the doorway. "Mummy has called us to the table."

Greg slid his hand in Mycroft's as they walked back to the house. He was wondering if what Sherlock had said about Mycroft not believing in caring about people was true. It certainly seemed like something Mycroft would say, but he had been sure that Mycroft  was starting to really care about him. 

When they entered the dining room, Greg happily sat between Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes. Mr. Holmes was at the other end of the table, sitting next to Mycroft and John. Sherlock sat across from Greg, next to his mother.   
"

How was your afternoon, boys?" Mrs. Holmes asked as they all began eating.

"I was called in to do some work," Mycroft said sullenly.

"Just some minor filing?" Sherlock asked.

"Something of that nature."

"I saw Sherlock's lab," Greg said, trying to steer the conversation away from Mycroft's work. It seemed to be a touchy subject for the Holmes brothers. "It's amazing."

"His laboratory is out there because he very nearly burnt the house down last year. Since then, our parents decided that if he wants to kill himself, so be it, at least the rest of the family will not perish."

Greg wasn't sure he liked this version of Mycroft. The Mycroft he knew was sweet and gentle, perhaps a bit reserved, but not nasty, like the Mycroft sitting next to him. 

"We thought Sherlock might enjoy having his own space," Mrs. Holmes said diplomatically, smiling at her sons. "So, Greg, I hear that you have aspirations to the police force?"

Greg nodded, happy for the help with the conversation. He cheerfully answered her questions about his education and career plans, which seemed to go over well. The Holmes parents seemed happy with how Greg saw his life playing out and seemed perfectly happy that Mycroft was now included in those plans.

"And what about your family?" Mr. Holmes asked.

Mycroft shot his father a look that the nice man didn't seem to notice.

"Well, I never knew my father," Greg said honestly, unsure of how many details to add to the sad story of his parentage. "And my mother died last year. No siblings. So that's about it."

"Oh, my dear, I'm sorry," Mrs. Holmes said, taking Greg's hand and giving it a squeeze. "To lose your mother so young must be a terrible hardship."

"To be honest, she wasn't the best mother when she was alive. I don't think about her all that often."

Mrs. Holmes piled some more food on Greg's plate. "Eat up, Greg. There's plenty of food here."

Greg smiled at Mycroft, who was watching them with amusement. He shrugged and started eating the food. He had never had anyone mother him before and he thought it was very nice.

Later that night, Greg realized that the sleeping arrangements had never been discussed. He didn't mind sleeping wherever Mycroft's parents wanted him, but he didn't know how to ask without being weird. They were sitting in the living room, drinking tea, when Mycroft stood, yawning.

"Are you coming?" he asked Greg.

Greg glanced at Mrs. Holmes, who smiled at him fondly, and then nodded, following Mycroft up to his room. "Isn't it weird for us to sleep in the same bed here?" he asked. 

Mycroft shrugged. "I assumed that you would be sleeping in here. Mummy didn't say anything, so I suppose it's alright."

Greg glanced at the bed awkwardly. "It's your parents' house."

Mycroft smiled and pulled him into a kiss. "Relax. We're just going to be sleeping. Unless you wanted to do something else..."

Greg bit his lip. "No, sleeping is fine. When we get back to your flat tomorrow, things will be different."

Mycroft laughed and threw a pillow at Greg.

***

The next morning, Greg awoke to an empty bed. He stumbled down the stairs, following the smell of food. When he reached the kitchen, Mrs. Holmes pointed him to an empty chair at the table and put a plate in front of him that was piled high with food. He smiled at Mycroft, who was sipping a cup of tea and looking very out of place.

"Can you convince him to eat something?" Mrs. Holmes asked Greg. "This new diet is worrisome."

"Diet?" Greg asked, frowning. He had noticed that Mycroft didn't seem to eat very much, but he ate regular meals when they were together. Greg ate a lot, so he just assumed that Mycroft ate like a normal person.

"I have been on a diet for a few weeks," Mycroft said quietly. "I didn't see a need to mention it to you."

"Why? There's no need for you to diet."

Mycroft raised one eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Frowning, Greg stood and took a plate from the cabinet, pushing half of the food from his plate onto it and setting it in front of Mycroft. He sat back down and returned to his meal.

"What is this?" Mycroft asked, looking at it.

"Breakfast. Eat it." When Mycroft didn't move, Greg glared at him. Eventually, Mycroft started eating the food and ate all of it.

"Thank you," Mrs. Holmes said to Greg as she set a fresh cup of tea in front of him. "I knew you'd be good for my Mycroft."

Sherlock tumbled into the room, followed by John. They took plates of food and cups of tea and went out the back to the shed. "Did John sleep here last night?" Mycrof asked icily.

"The poor dear is having some issues at home. He stays here occasionally."

"Is that wise? They're only fourteen."

"Your boyfriend stayed with you last night," she said, sitting down next to him.

"We're adults."

"You're nineteen. John and Sherlock are very close."

"So you let them share a room? What do they do in there at night?"

"I'd rather not think about that, dear. You boys are going to do what you do whether we let it happen in the house or not. I trust John."

"Why?"

"He's a good boy. He treats Sherlock well. And since he's been spending time here, his school marks have improved and he's been talking about going to school to be a doctor. They're good for each other."

***

"Do you think that 'caring isn't an advantage'?" Greg asked Mycroft when they were on the train home. "Sherlock said that."

"I think that it can be dangerous to care. Caring for someone leaves one open to all sorts of nastiness."

"So you don't care for me?"

"Of course I care for you." Mycroft reached over and held Greg's hand tightly.

"So you're being foolish, then?"

Mycroft thought about it for a moment. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"I'm glad you're being foolish for me, Mycroft."

"I'm glad, too, Greg."

When they made it back to London later that day, Greg reluctantly made his way to his flat. When he arrived, his roommates Sally and Tobias were sitting in the living room, talking. Tobias smiled and greeted him, but Sally just rolled her eyes and turned away.

"I'm sorry, but is something wrong?" Greg asked, frustration from the last couple weeks finally exploding out of him. "Did I do something to offend you?"

"I just want to know what you're trying to prove," Sally said.

"I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm just trying to live my life."

"Well, you weren't gay a month ago and now suddenly you're this big poof with a boyfriend."

"I was gay a month ago. I was gay a year ago, I was gay when we've met, I've always been gay. You simply didn't know it."

"Well then why come out with it now? Why suddenly tell us that you're gay and have a boyfriend, a boyfriend who beats up our other friends?"

"Those guys went after Mycroft. Three of them went after my not very large boyfriend and his fifteen-year-old brother. They weren't beat up, they were knocked over. Mycroft did nothing wrong."

"You weren't gay until you met him."

Greg stared at her incredulously. He couldn't believe that she didn't seem to understand what he had just said. "Have you ever considered that I met Mycroft and was finally happy and wanted to make my happiness complete by sharing it with those who I considered my best friends? You were the first person I told, Sally. The first person to whom I said the words 'I'm gay.'" He was shouting, but he was so angry that he didn't care.

"Oh," she said quietly, all of the fight going out of her. "I didn't know that. I didn't think of it that way."

There was a knock on the door. Greg opened it to see Mycroft standing there. He looked pale and uncomfortable to Greg. "I was carrying this," Mycroft said, holding Greg's bag out to him.

"Ah, yes. Did you hear...?"

"I apologize for causing trouble between you and your friends. I will see you at a later time, when things are better."

"Wait. Can I come with you?" Greg asked. Mycroft's eyes darted over Greg's shoulders to where Sally and Tobias were standing in the doorway to the living room, watching them. "Is it okay for me to stay with you for a few days?"

"Of course," Mycroft said. He took the bag back from Greg. "Would you like to get some things or just come?"

"I'll get some things. Wait here?" Mycroft nodded and Greg turned to head to his bedroom to pack another bag. "Don't say anything," he said quietly to his friends as he walked past them. He knew that Sally was going to say something, but he knew he would be able to hear them from his bedroom, so hopefully he could stop her from saying something too obnoxious.

 

"Sorry about all that," Sally said quietly. "It's odd, is all. Very odd. I've known Greg a long time."

"I know, I've had to come out too. My friends have reacted considerably more favorably, however."

"No one made a fool of herself?"

"Nothing like that, I'm afraid."

"I just don't know what to say. Things seem different now."

"He's still the same Greg he was before he met me," Mycroft told her gently.

Greg finished packing his Greg and returned to Mycroft. He didn't say anything to his friends, he just walked out. Mycroft bid them farewell and then followed.

When they reached Mycroft's apartment, Greg sunk into a chair and put his face in his hands. "It's so awkward there."

"What would you have done if I hadn't come back?"

Greg shrugged. "Probably stayed. I was getting very frustrated."

"Do you want to move in here?" Mycroft blurted out. Greg looked up at him, surprised, and he turned bright red.

"Do you want me to?"

"Well, we don't have a chance to see each other very often. We're both so busy. It might be nice to see each other every night."

"We haven't been together very long," Greg said, standing up and pulling Mycroft close to him.

"I know I'm not the only one who thinks this is right," Mycroft told him.

Greg thought about it for a moment. Mycroft was right, Greg had never been so happy as he was with Mycroft. Not only that, but he was comfortable with Mycroft. They could sit together and read in silence without it being awkward. Greg was rarely self-conscious around Mycroft, something he had never felt with anyone. He slid his hand around to the back of Mycroft's head and pulled him down into a kiss, thinking about how right it felt every time they saw each other.

"I'll have to keep paying my share of the flat, but once I can find someone to take my place there, yes."

"I've been affording this flat on my salary, you can move in whenever you want. I don't expect you to pay rent."

"So you want me to be a kept man?" Greg asked with a grin.

"I just want you here."

"I'll move in tomorrow," Greg said, kissing him again. "I love you, Mycroft."

"I love you, too, Greg."


End file.
